Free Strangers at Dawn by Elizabeth Thornton Page A

this?”
    Miss Beattie’s gaze faltered. They were living like this because whenever Sara’s identity became known, fingers started pointing, and friends and acquaintances melted away. No one was ever going to forget that Sara was once accused of murder, especially not with the Courier’s special correspondent keeping the story alive. Sara was right. An intelligent man would want nothing to do with her, because fingers would start pointing at him too, and eventually at their children. It was all so hopeless.
    Sara let out a long, quiet breath. “Bea,” she said softly, “this is all going to work out for the best, you’ll see. I’ve been thinking that once I’m free of all my obligations to my family, I could start afresh somewhere else. Oh, not in England. But what’s to stop us going to America?”
    “America,” said Miss Beattie faintly.
    “No one knows me there and best of all, there would be no Courier to hound me.”
    “But … but it’s so far away.”
    “Yes. That’s the whole point. But let’s not think about it right now. Let’s take things one step at a time, and the first step is to find some unsuspecting male who can give me my heart’s desire.”
    Miss Beattie looked up quickly, saw the laughter in Sara’s eyes and smiled in spite of herself.
    A T THE END OF HALF AN HOUR, SARA HAD RE duced the list of applicants to three likely candidates, with two to be held in reserve. The ones she had discarded were from men who were either too young-and might yet meet a woman they could love-or too sure of their ability to make her forget about a marriage of convenience and live happily ever after on her money and their skill as lovers.
    Lucky her!
    “What now?” asked Miss Beattie glumly.
    “Now,” said Sara, “we do a little sleuthing. Oh, nothing too obvious. All very discreet. We introduce ourselves to Bath society and find out as much as we can about”-she looked at her list of three likely candidates”-Mr. Townsend, Mr. Bloor, and Major Haig.
    “We’re going to the Pump Room, Bea. According to our landlady, that’s where everyone in Bath congregates. I believe it’s a daily ritual, not only for visitors, but for residents as well. And Mrs. Hastings will be there to introduce us around.”
    Miss Beattie made a short, sharp derisory sound. “Mrs. Hastings,” she said, “is a silly, vulgar woman. Do you know what she said to me last night when your back was turned? She winked and said that she had quite a reputation as a matchmaker, and if she couldn’t fix me up, no one could. What exactly did you say to that woman in your correspondence?”
    Sara put her cup to her mouth to conceal her smile. After taking a sip of tea, she said, “What we agreed upon, of course, that you are my employer and I am your companion.”
    “I think you must have said a lot more than that.”
    Sara shrugged. “I may have given the impression that you were lonely.”
    In fact, Sara had been delighted with the tone of Mrs. Hasting’s letters. She’d realized that the woman was a busybody. Normally she would have avoided such a person, but for her present purposes, Mrs. Hastings was a godsend. Sara had hinted that her “employer” was husbandhunting. That way, she’d reasoned, it would be easy to quiz their landlady on all the gentlemen who replied to her advertisement.
    Miss Beattie drained her cup and set it down carefully. “So I’m your employer and you’re my paid companion. Is this charade really necessary, Sara?”
    “Absolutely, and you know why. I don’t want to draw attention to myself. I don’t want to be recognized. No one will spare a paid companion a second glance.”
    This was something that irritated Miss Beattie. She’d had visions of Sara buying new clothes, prettying herself up, enjoying herself. But she was still dressed in the mode of a governess.
    “Bea, don’t be difficult. Please?”
    Miss Beattie could not resist that appeal. “Who’s being difficult? Well, come along.